


What Time Do You Call This?

by Other_Pens



Category: The London Life (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff, Regency, Regency Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-06
Updated: 2016-09-06
Packaged: 2018-08-13 11:25:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7975120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Other_Pens/pseuds/Other_Pens
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>George gets home late.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Time Do You Call This?

_1802_

"Not to sound the nagging wife, George, but where on _earth_ have you been?"  
  
The lord and master had only just stepped into the room before Freddie had appeared out of her dressing-room and hastened to take hold of both his cold hands in hers.  
  
"The snow is getting worse, I think--I had to ride slowly, and then help the groom see to the horse--it's hardly fit weather for any man or beast to be out in it," he explained.  
  
"I thought you might have stayed over in town, but then the storm came up so suddenly I feared you'd been caught in it..."  
  
"Caught, maybe, but I made a good escape," laughed George as he disposed of his greatcoat and followed Freddie over to the fireplace, where she took another log from the basket to add to the flickering pile in the grate. George sat on the cozy little sofa by the fireside and gently pulled his wife onto his knee. "You look pale," he said, his hand moving carefully to the curve of her belly, and the child that would come in the spring.  
  
"I was worried, but I'm well."  
  
"I'm sorry you were worried. Perhaps I should have stayed at the inn in town."  
  
"You're home now...there's no point dwelling on the matter any longer," said Freddie, snuggling against him with a happy little sigh.  
  
George leaned back against the cushions with Freddie in his arms, his eyes drifting shut as the warmth of his wife and the firelight lulled his weary body into a doze.  
  
"...George?"  
  
"Mmm?"  
  
"...if those dirty black boots of yours are on the sofa..."  
  
There came two light thuds as his heels fell back to the rug and they both chuckled.  
  
"Nag me to sleep, Freds," he murmured with a smile.  
  
"Take me to bed and I will."  
  
When he tucked her under the warmed covers, she only had to look down at his feet with eyebrows raised before he shucked off his boots and got into bed, where his sleepy wife curled up beside him, resting her head on his chest.  
  
"You smell of horse," she chided him softly as the winter wind howled against the windowpanes and the logs snapped and crackled in the fireplace.  
  
"I'm a brute."  
  
"I dare say you'll be coming home drunk, next. What shall I do with you then?"  
  
"Make my life a living hell with your shrewish rebukes, probably."  
  
George only had time to twirl one lock of her hair around the tip of his finger before he drifted off, and Freddie had to laugh to herself as he began to snore.  
  
"What a wretched man you are," she whispered lovingly as she closed her eyes.


End file.
